


Step Out in the Night

by orphan_account



Category: Yes (Band)
Genre: Car Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Chris have had a rare good night. Why not try to make it a little better? (1969)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Out in the Night

Jon awoke to the drone of the van’s tires down the highway and a soft brush against his cheek. His eyes flickered open but he saw only the dark, speckled with the occasional orange glow from outside. His throat rasped when he sat up. A shadow against shadows stretched before him: Chris, sitting in the driver’s seat, let his hand hang there. Jon watched for a second as Chris seemed to consider retracting it, but he reached over again and gave Jon’s skin another light stroke.

 

“Didn’t mean to wake you up,” Chris whispered. Jon saw the light disperse across his face when he smiled.

 

Rubbing his eyes, Jon sat up. “That’s quite alright,” he murmured in return, his voice husky, weighed down an octave lower with sleep.

 

After a last sweep of his fingers through Jon’s hair, Chris returned his hand to the steering wheel. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I'll be fine.”

 

“No, I think I'll awake. You’re too…” Jon yawned, and in the midst of finishing it, clasped his hand over his heart and let it rest there. “…too sweet, my Fish, I love you.” 

 

“I love you, too.”

 

At that, Jon let out a quiet, delighted hum. He reached over until his hand came to rest in Chris’ lap, and his fingers glided across the surface, stroking his thigh. He draped his body across the gearshift.

 

“What are you doing?” Chris asked. He fought to keep the chuckle behind his words muted.

 

“Making my way to you.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.” Regardless when Jon settled there with his head in his lap, Chris took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it by his ear to stroke his hair. He hummed, Jon sighing happily underneath. “Can’t wait to get home,” Chris said. “I’m not going to be able to fall asleep unless I’ve got you in my bed with me.”

 

“Who’s ridiculous now?” Jon chuckled.

 

Chris laughed back. “Wish I could hold you right now.”

 

“How much longer have we got?”

 

“Another hour. I’m going to explode.”

 

“Goodness, how long have we been driving? Not that terribly far between Oxford and London, is it?” Jon asked. “What do you want to do when we get home?” As if that was any sort of question.

 

Chris smirked, looked down at Jon so he could see it. “You,” he answered.

 

“…Christopher.”

 

“I can’t even kiss you right now, you all the way down there.”

 

Chris bit his lips, nothing anywhere near the sensation Jon knew he’d receive once he lifted his head and graced him with his touch. They’d played an excellent show that night, rushed though it was, since it was one of so, so many they found out about late in the afternoon with just enough time to pile into the van and make it there. He and Chris sang just about flawlessly in harmony, Peter didn’t smash his guitar in some kind of Pete Townshend knockoff antic, Bill didn’t fight with anyone, Tony didn’t complain when the bartender asked them if they had a Moog by any chance. Really, a miracle of an evening. And the only thing that would make it a perfect night would be a sleepy go of it once they got home, but Chris, the slowly-awakening kraken of the band, wasn’t always patient. Everyone else was asleep. Now was perfect.

 

And as far as Jon knew neither of them had ever gotten off in a moving car before, either. 

 

“Kiss me,” Chris pleaded.

 

Jon acted like the task of getting up from Chris’ lap and kissing him was the biggest chore of his life but he smiled while he did it. He settled back in his seat, though, facing out the window, seeing Chris looking at him in the reflection and smiling back at him that way.

 

“You’ve some manner of idea, haven’t you,” Jon asked, the corners of his lips betraying a grin.

 

Chris answered by raising an eyebrow and unzipping his fly. He was in a remarkably good mood.

 

Jon’s eyebrow lifted in reply, but he still tried to hold back his smile. “What of it,” he said.

 

“Just use your hand or something,” Chris answered. “I can’t wait an hour.”

 

Taking a breath Jon swiveled around in place to take a look at the others in the back. True enough, Peter and Bill and Tony were strewn about, draped among their instruments, still out cold. He flushed at his own action. Honestly, he’d really checked back on them? He’d really considered the proposition? He sucked his lips shut.

 

When he looked back he found Chris trying to wriggle as best he could out of his pants. My poor desperate silly Fish, Jon thought. He rolled his eyes, reached over, and helped him out.

 

“Thank you Jesus,” Chris sighed.

 

It was for the better that as Jon started stroking Chris’ dick he giggled to himself. If his Mum knew about any of this Jesus would be the last individual to thank for any of it. But he didn’t have to worry about her, he didn’t have to worry about the fear of God, he didn’t have to worry about anything but keeping Chris as happy as he looked right then.

 

Perhaps a little less. He had no interest in dying in a car crash, to be quite honest.

 

There really was nothing to it keeping Chris aroused. Once Jon got settled into his place and could flick his wrist up and down fluidly he barely had to think. Keep his mind on what he’d like Chris to do for him when they got home, since he could wait. Up, down. Suck him, perhaps. Up down. Or maybe he could have him use his fingers on him. Up, down. Yes, that would be nice.

 

He heard Chris grunt out his name so he opened his eyes and turned toward him, stopping his hand where he had it. “You know,” he said and panted. “You know, you could replace your hand with your mouth right now and nobody back there would know.” He jerked his head toward the packed cavity of the van.

 

Speaking of sucking. Jon glanced back again. He knew they were out already but someone could have stirred for all he knew. They hadn’t though. Either miraculously or unfortunately.

 

“Oh, I just couldn’t,” Jon said, voice threatening to crack. “What if you drove over something and it made me—what if it happened they woke up? I should like to die.”

 

Chris removed a hand from the steering wheel. He placed it atop Jon’s hand, still wrapped around him.

 

“I’m running that risk right now,” Chris said.

 

Jon let out a tight breath. He stared down at where he would otherwise see his hand. Chris guided it up and down, an opalescent bead of fluid growing and pooling at the tip. Jon hesitated by tightening his grip, smoothing over it with his thumb. He whimpered.

 

“Chris, I—I love you, but—”

 

“Oh, God, Jon,” Chris half-gasped, half-whispered, his eyes fighting to stay open through a hot, straining flood. “I love you, too. Fuck, I love you. I don’t care if we crashed, I’d die feeling you, that’s how I’d want to go out anyway.”

 

“Please do mind the road, Christopher…”

 

Chris’ hand squeezed Jon’s. He let out a low rumble that turned out to be Jon’s name. His fingers moved to weave between Jon’s, still stroking, always stroking.

 

Watching those fluttering lashes, Jon used his free hand to collect his hair at the base of his neck. He moved down, disappearing into the darkness that lay across Chris’ lap, and his first move was to kiss the tip of his dick. He moved up to lick the salt of him from his lips. A second later he’d taken as much of it into his mouth as he could.

 

The van hit the inconsistencies of the road. Jon knew that those, not any motion on Chris’ part, sent the tip grazing the back of his throat. In spite of this, he moved up and down, his tongue swishing around it. He swallowed as he went. The road wanted him to choke; Chris would never dream of such a thing, if he had any say.

 

Jon found that in the desperation of his dive across the gearshift, he’d yet to remove his arm from Chris’ lap. His fingers clutched the fabric of Chris’ shirt as if he’d float away in some antigravity vacuum otherwise, but the arm itself remained in a lax, sweet embrace. Jon could have fallen asleep there. He’d have to spit Chris from his lips, though. Jon was neither that rude nor that cruel.

 

Chris wouldn’t take his hand off Jon’s, although Jon had moved it to stabilize Chris at the base. The hand he used to steer had long ago bleached from the force of his grip around the wheel. He wouldn’t move either one.

 

And then Jon felt something stroke his cheek, just near the corner of his mouth. Chris sputtered a “th” sound but couldn’t manage a full word. Jon rolled his eyes upward to see him, looming up over him, a silhouetted monolith before the streaking lights of the roadside beyond.

 

Chris groaned Jon’s name, barely passing for a whisper, at the same moment that Jon felt, tasted, and by virtue of reflex, swallowed, the thick, burning wave that rushed into his mouth.

 

He wiped his mouth with the hand he used a second later to steady the steering wheel while a panting Chris recovered.

 

“Thank you Jesus,” Chris sighed.

 

“I know,” Jon replied. “Goodness me, Christopher, honestly, were it not that I knew better I’d think it you and not me wanting to be just the tiniest bit more open about being together with you.”

 

Chris wiped the sweat from under his bangs. He knocked Jon’s hand off of the wheel, taking his place as the driver again. “Who’s saying I don’t want to be open? You know I do. Circumstances are all.”

 

“I know,” Jon whined. “You haven’t a mint or something on you, by any chance?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve got a mint.” Chris dug into his back pocket. From it he pulled a half-opened package of chalky mints he’d gotten at the club in Oxford, Jon couldn’t remember why. He handed the whole roll to Jon. “You certainly got feisty, didn’t you?”

 

Jon would have eaten the whole roll of mints just to spite him but he only took two. “Did not,” he replied.

 

“Did too,” Chris said, then lifted his voice to an airy falsetto: “‘Goodness me, Christopher.’”

 

Talk about feisty, Jon thought. “Stop that.”

 

“‘Stop that.’”

 

“I said stop!”

 

“Keep it down,” said a groggy Tony from the back. “Don’t you two ever get along? I swear.”

 

Some perfect night. Jon sat perfectly still in his seat with his arms crossed, scowling out into the night beyond the window. He waited until he was sure he heard Tony’s breathing level off, and he looked back again to find him readjusted, asleep again, then turned back to look out the window again. He popped another mint into his mouth.

 

Through the reflection Chris smirked at him.

 

“Love you,” Chris said.

 

“Yeah.” He held his breath. The less the others knew the better, and sometimes, the ‘better’ part really counted. He let himself smile. “I love you too.”


End file.
